


From the Mountains to the Fire

by CleverCanary



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 17:30:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1613369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleverCanary/pseuds/CleverCanary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of meeting Beorn, the company of Thorin Oakenshield meets a new creature in the mountains, one that will change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the Mountains to the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> READ ME!
> 
> Alright – hello there, this little blurb is in reference to cannon. This story takes place before the dwarves and company met Beorn, and this is where the story breaks from cannon. Instead of meeting Beorn they meet another character in this story who takes his place and becomes more of a fixture. The cannon of the book is held in some further regard for creating the back-story and dictating behavior – but at this point it becomes a vastly different tale and things like orcs are stickily from movie-cannon.

The mountains were cold and the light dim as Bilbo peered over the rocky outcroppings that concealed him from their enemy. An orc pack astride vile wargs rode over the opposing ridge – Azok among them. Careful not to be seen, Bilbo made note of their number and distance before disappearing back to the rest of the company.   
“How close is the pack?” Thorin asked hurriedly as Bilbo rounded the bend in the trail.  
“Too close, couple of leagues, no more.” Bilbo responded urgently, glancing over his shoulder.   
“Have the wargs picked up our scent?” Dwalin asked.  
“Not yet – but they will.” Bilbo finished – turning then to Gandalf. The wizard paused for a moment, planning, considering before he turned to address the company,  
“We must make for the Greenwood, it is our only chance.”   
Thorin grumbled noisily, but this time not even he would dispute the caster's decision – for as much as he loathed the whole of the Elvish race, he bore more hatred for the orcs. Without another word, the fourteen weary travelers made their way as fast as they were able through the dense mountain forest. They continued on as the early morning faded and swiftly changed to afternoon and then to dusk, when the paths had grown too dark to travel safely. Under the coming blackness the roots and rocks that littered the narrow pathways became as grasping hands and threatened to pull dwarves, hobbits, and wizards alike to their deaths over the side of the mountain. Uneasily they stopped their flight and made camp in the shadow of a great tree. Undaunted by their peril, Bofur lit a fire and began attending to supper.   
“You ought not to be doing that.” Dori chided peevishly.  
“'ere's no reason we should have to go hungry – besides, what difference does it make? It's not as though being pursued by a pack of blood-thirst orcs is new.” Bofur retorted, and in truth he was right. Although the orcs were closer now, having passed through goblin caves, barely defeated trolls, and previously only narrowly escaped the orcs, all while on their way to encounter a furnace with wings – it seemed like no cause for anything more than the usual amount of concern. The fire burned long into the night as the company took turns sleeping in shifts, to keep a watchful eye on the forest for encroaching orcs – yet all through the night, one stayed awake. Gandalf sat uneasily at the far edge of the fire's light, occasionally turning his face toward the darkness beyond it's gentle glow and furrowing his brow.   
“Is it the orcs?” Came a small voice from behind,  
“What? Oh, Bilbo – no, it's...it's nothing.” The wizard responded absently, turning his face again to the blackness. “It's nothing.”   
Bilbo stared at his friend worriedly, but did not say more. He knew from experience that pressuring the wizard for information was rarely successful, and that it was best to wait until Gandalf chose to impart his thoughts, if he chose to at all. Still, unable to sate his curiosity even once his turn was over and he had returned to his sleeping space between Bombur and Fili, Bilbo closed his eyes and strained to hear. A noise, low and steady, even over the rumble of dwarvish snoring he could hear it coming out from the darkness beyond their camp. It almost sounded like...breathing.   
“Orcs?” He thought to himself, but no – no they would attack outright, not linger in the shadows. With as much stealth as he could muster, he reached for his elvish blade and pulled the dagger from it's hilt. Nothing, the blade that shown blue in the presence of foul creatures was only a silver sliver steel in the darkness. He furrowed his brow, there was no doubt that something lurked in the night just beyond their camp. “What...are you?” Bilbo whispered to himself before settling uncomfortably on his belly. Despite his concern, the long days journey had taken it's toll and soon Bilbo was no longer able to keep his eyes fixed on the darkness and he fell into an uneasy slumber.   
Morning saw the sun rise over the mountain's ridges and cast bold beams of light amongst the trees. Bilbo awoke to find Gandalf gone and the dwarves busily packing up the camp in preparation for yet another long day. Bombur and Ori had just finished managing the cooking utensils into sacks as Dwalin, Gloin and Oin made count of their weapons. Bilbo smiled, the menace of the orcs and the mysterious noise from the night all but forgotten in the relative calm of the light of the new day. He stretched lazily before finding his feet and making his way toward his companions when all at once a terrible noise was heard. Out of the thick forest was heard a mighty howl that sent a rumble of fear rippling through the band,   
“Wargs! They've found us!” Shouted Fili – gripping his sword fiercely.  
“Run!” Ordered Thorin, for out from the trees came the entirety of the orc pack – too many to fight and so the company turned and ran further into the forest. They ran as fast as they were able – pushing further and further along paths hopefully too narrow for the heavy-bodied orcs and their slavering wargs. “Look there!” Thorin shouted and pointed up ahead. There across the wide river lay a fallen tree, just barely long enough to span it's banks. Charging ahead he vaulted onto the great trunk and motioned for the rest of the company to follow, with the orcs close behind there was no time to lose. “Dwalin – shatter the log once we've made it 'cross.” Thorin ordered as the dwarves scrambled along the log. Most had made it to the opposing bank as Thorin and Dwalin stood in the center of the fallen tree,  
“Kili! Hurry!” Fili shouted, his brother – unable to willingly turn and flee, had stopped before crossing to fire arrows at the approaching orcs.   
“Kili – now!” Thorin shouted and finally the young dwarf clambered onto the fallen tree. Dwalin raised his hammer in preparation, but before he could splinter the log a large piece of floating debris shattered it to pieces. Having tightly grabbed the tree for safety, Dwalin and Thorin looked up in horror to see Kili being swept away down stream. The company shouted and ran along the bank trying desperately to reach their comrade – but the current was too swift and the force of the water too strong as it mercilessly carried Kili further away. Trying to keep his head above water, Kili paddled frantically and panicked as he began to hear the cries of his friends getting softer and softer. At first he thought the river was simply carrying him further away – but then dread sank into the pit of his heart. Their voices were not getting softer, they were being drowned out by the roar of a great waterfall. With as much energy as he could assemble Kili swam against the current, but it was too late.  
“Kili!” Fili shouted from the shoreline as he looked on in abject horror as his younger brother slipped over the top of the falls.  
Kili felt himself falling as he tried in vein to find something – anything to cling to, but there was nothing. He braced for impact, but instead of bashing against the rocks below he felt himself seized by a massive forced and torn out from the column of water. With a heavy, wet thud he found himself deposited roughly on the bank. Dazed he rolled onto his stomach and rose to his hands and knees – coughing violently. As soon as he found his breath he raised his head and looked around, but there was no sign of whatever had pulled him from the river. He turned his head sharply when he heard the rustle of branches and heavy footfalls on the path,   
“Kili!” His brother shouted before hastily embracing him. “How did you get here?” Fili asked as he pulled the fur from his shoulders and wrapped it around his drenched brother.   
“I...I'm not sure.” Kili coughed feebily, grinning ear-to-ear over the sheer joy of being alive.   
“What's it matter? He's alive!” Exclaimed Bofur, clapping the young dwarf heartily on the back, causing another wave of coughing.   
“Because,” it was Thorin, making his way through the cluster of dwarves to stand beside his nephew, “it's still here.” He said stiffly as he looked sternly into the forest depth.   
“Aye, I believe you're right, Throin” Balin said as he too came to look into the dense underbrush. In realization of the danger, the dwarves formed a circle around their reclaimed half-drowned companion. Weapons drawn, they searched the trees with keen and searching eyes – looking for any sign of man or beast.   
“Maybe it's gone?” Ori offered hopefully after a few moments had passed.  
“No, it's still here.” Dwalin said warningly, “Can hear it breathin'.” This was what Bilbo had heard the night before in the darkness surrounding the camp, and what Gandalf must have heard as well. The noise remained constant – it came no closer, but did not retreat.  
“It saved me, maybe – maybe it's harmless.” Kili breathed heavily.  
“Maybe it just didn't want to wait till you'd drowned.” Dwalin retorted hostilely.  
“No, I don't think so.” A familiar voice from behind on the path, Gandalf had returned. With this sword still in it's sheath he slowly stepped forward until he stood between the dwarves and the source of the breathing. “Come out of there, so we can have a look at you.” After a long pause, the source responded,   
“If I come out, you will attack.” It's voice a low rumbling growl that made every hair on Bilbo's neck stand on end.  
“No, we will not. You have my word.” Gandalf spoke plainly and as amicably as he could manage. At first he was rewarded only with a growl, but then slowly the crack and creak of brush and branches grew louder as a great, hulking shape moved through the forest. The dwarves stirred nervously, “Quiet! Sheath your weapons!” The wizard commanded as the shadow moved closer through the undergrowth.   
“You aim to get us killed!” Thorin accused, refusing to remove his hand from his blade.   
“The only thing that will kill you now is foolishness – sheath your sword!” Gandalf barked, and it was only in this moment that the great shadowy shape from the forest came fully into view. A monstrous beast with a long muzzle and pointed ears. Almost the size of a bear with fur so dark that the very light around the creature seemed to bend in the presence of such blackness and eyes that shown like smoldering coals.   
“A Barghest...” Dori whispered, his voice filled with disbelief, causing the other dwarves to draw their weapons.  
“Not only that, but a Skin-Changer as well. Calm yourselves – you have nothing to fear, if she had wanted you dead, well – you already would be.” Gandalf addressed the nervous dwarves before stepping forward, “Perhaps you'd better change your shape.” He suggested congenially, reaching into his bag and pulling out a large tunic, no doubt one of his own. The beast growled and began to change. Where there had been fur there was now tanned skin and dark brown hair that hung around her face and shoulders. In place of claws and fangs were the features of a young woman – all pieces of the animal melted away until before the dwarves stood a naked Skin-Changer in human shape. She took the tunic from Gandalf's hands and wrapped it around her lithe-yet-sturdy frame. Skin-Changers have no concern for nudity, but she knew from experience that other races found it...troublesome.  
“Who are you? Why did you save Kili?” Thorin addressed her now, his sword returned to it's sheath, but his hand still resting on the hilt.   
“I am Ulricha, daughter of Boern, Chief of the Skin-Changers from the high mountains. I have come seeking the company of Thorin Oakenshield. And I saved your friend because he needed saving.” She responded as she finished knotting the tunic.  
“For what purpose?” Thorin asked,  
“To aid in the quest to reclaim Erebor.” Thorin stared at her warily, carefully weighing truth.  
“What concern is it of yours?”  
“It was prophesied that I would fight alongside the King Under the Mountain when the time came to reclaim his thrown. I am here to fulfill that destiny.”  
Thorin examined her for a moment,  
“You are in no position to turn down an ally of this magnitude.” Gandalf said blatantly.   
“How do we know we can trust this beast?” Thorin groused,  
“If I had wanted you dead, Thorin Oakenshield, I would have killed you in your sleep.”  
“That was you, last night?” Bilbo interjected.  
“Yes, I have been following you for some time – ever since you entered these mountains.”  
“We cannot in good conscious place our trust in a Barghest!” Protested Dori,  
“Pardon, what exactly is a Barghest?” Bilbo asked, Ulricha seemed nice enough – and despite her original size had not tried to eat anyone.   
“A Barghest is a monstrous creature that lurks in the shadows of the mountains, devouring all who cross it's path.” Balin explained, “Terrible beasts that materialize out of nothingness and vanish before your eyes, bringing with them only terror and death.”   
“Skin-Changers do not choose their soul-companions, and I assure you that I mean you no harm.” Ulricha insisted, her tone firm yet mildly entreating.  
“What's a...soul-companion?” Bilbo asked,  
“When a Skin-Changer reaches the age of five, they are lead to a sacred place where the beasts who will become their animal selves will choose them and the two are bound together until death.” Gandalf explained.  
“Yes, and when I was chosen by the Barghest it set in motion the events that would bring me here and bid me accompany you.” She paused and turned to Balin, “And the Barghest is not as you believe, though your dwarvish impression does not surprise me. The Barghest is a caretaker of balance, it only kills to protect that. Dwarves – with your mining, your destruction and greed, disturb that balance – it is no wonder you have run afoul of the Barghest.” Ulricha turned then to Thorin, “Thorin – son of Thrane, King Under the Mountain – it is prophecy that compels you now to Erebor and if you truly have faith in the prophets of old, you will allow me to accompany you.” She finished with a direct surety that gave Thorin pause. He eyed her warily before turning to the other dwarves and bidding them come closer.  
“We cannot trust her.” Balin said plainly,  
“But you saw her – a fierce and mighty beast, and she saved Kili.” Fili pressed,  
“Aye, I did lad and that is precisely the reason we cannot allow her to join us!” Balin nearly shouted,  
“I don't trust her either, but a beast of that size...” Dwalin said as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, “she could kill many orcs, and perhaps be of used with a dragon.” The old warrior finished.  
“Nai azki vaari kulak gogaz, em bi nai?” Bifur enthusiastically stated, exchanging nodding glances with Dwalin. Thorin thought for a moment before turning back to Gandalf and their unexpected guest,  
“Very well – but be sure, I will be watching you.” Thorin said, finally removing his hand from the hilt of his sword. “We must go, it won't be long before the orcs find a way to cross the river.”  
“You're headed to the Greenwood?” Ulricha asked, turning to Gandalf.  
“Yes, we shall find safer passage through elfin lands than the open – with orcs about.” He said as the dwarves began to depart.  
“The Greenwood is foul.” Ulricha said, wrinkling her nose, “There is a great evil there that Thranduil either cannot or will not expel.”  
“What evil is this?” Thorin inquired, immediately interested in anything that connoted an elven failing.  
“Beasts, tainted creatures gather there in number. They are almost the size of me.” She finished with a tone that suggested a degree of trepidation. “I have visited there in recent weeks, the Greenwood of old is gone and replaced with darkness cloaked in webs. It is not the size of these creatures that concerns me, or their venom alone, it is their number and the miasma that permeates the air.”  
“This does complicate matters,” Gandalf said reluctantly, leaning on his staff.   
“But – what other choice is there? You've said it yourself that if we stay in the open we'll be bait for the orcs. We'll just...have to find another way around, maybe?” Bilbo posited.  
“No – regrettably I think there is no safer way. I do not wish to cause you to diverge from your path, only to prepare you for what is to come.” Ulricha evenly.  
“Then we must depart immediately.” Gandalf instructs directly, “We've no time to waste.”


End file.
